THe Republike was but newly born when she was attaqued in her cradle by the Tarquins, and besieged by their Allies. 〈◊〉 a yong Roman, ambitious to set her at liberty, entred in a disguised habit into their Camp, and attempted upon the life of Porcenna; The blow and death he carried, having by a happy mistake for the King lighted upon his Secretary▪ The inraged Roman punished his hand for the error of his eyes, And in the sight of Porcenna and his People he burnt it with the fire of the Altar which was there prepared for a sacrifice. Thereby he gave them a second astonishment, far greater then the first, and affrighted them more with the punishment he inflicted upon himself, then he had done by his bold attempt; Porcenna despairing of taking the City from whence as many Gladiators might sally forth against him, as there were young men whose blood and courage the burnt hand of Muc • us might inflame, sent Propositions of peace to the Senate which entertained them and offered him the children of the chief Families of Rome for Hostages of their Faith. The Treaty was concluded, and the Hostages accepted: Porcenna withdrew his Army from the City, and being incamped along the • yber, made way for the adventure represented in this Picture.

The Hostages followed the Camp, and each of them was religiously observed, and as an Article of Peace. Claelia was particularly considered, both in regard of her birth and gracefull behaviour, and the courage which appeared in her looks. This Virgin, who knew not how to distinguish between an Hostage and a prisoner, and who had only learned hitherto to be free and Chaste, not accounting her Chastity very secure in a Camp allied to the Ravisher of Lucrecia, preached honor and liberty to her Companions, and offered to lead them couragiously to both. Perswaded by the Eloquence and authority of her countenance, by the force and vigour of her words; they all went forth with her, and casting themselves into the River Tyber, they crossed it under a cloud of Arrows and Darts which pursued them▪ Being arrived at Rome, as much inflamed by the action they had performed, as bathed with the water they had newly passed over, these came a crowd of people to applaud and load them with Benedictions and Crowns. The next day the • us • ans sent to demand them with threats, and the Senat returned them back to make good their saith, and accompanied with excuses.

At then return to the Camp, Porcenna praised them in the presence of the whole Army which was set in Battel array to receive them with ceremony and pomp. He professed, that if Mucius had affrighted him. Claelia had vanquished him; and that so bold and couragious a flight was his defeat, and the victory of Rome. This done, he sent her back with such Hostages as she was pleased to choose. The Senate received her in Triumph; And to leave unto Posterity an Eternal mark of her vertue, caused her Statue to be erected on Horseback, which was the first of this name and Form, and the eldest of all the Brazen Statues of the Consuls, and of all the Marble ones of the Dictators, which adorned the City since her time. The Republick, which received its Birth from the Vertue of a Woman, was conserved by the boldness of a Maid: And the Camilli, Fa •••• and the Cat •• inherited from Lucrecia and Claelia, Courage, Glory and liberty.

THis Question is not one of those extravagant Problems and Paradoxes which are made at random, and without any appearance of doubt. On what side soever you take it, there is a probability, and evident and colourable Reasons for it: And the vertue of Claelia, which was no less profitable, nor less esteemed at Rome then that of Horatius and Scerola, doth clear it at least of Temerity. However my intention is not to decide it. It will suffice that I set down plainly and sincerely the pretentions and right of the Parties. The Readers will deliver their opinion how they please, concerning my Relation: If there be injustice in their Censures, this injustice will neither prove Murther nor Theft: and after this, there will remain neither any death for them to expiate, nor any restitution to be made.

Let us begin with our own Vertue which is the eldest, and will have the first place; and let us forget nothing which may support her Right, and set a value upon her Advantages. First the Vertue of Men is a Vertue of Command and Authority, a superintendent and directing Vertue. She is for that side which governs and directs: And it is as well a part of her Duty as of her Right to govern and conduct. For this reason, as in a humane Body the Head is of more use then the Arms, and Discourse then Motion: As the Art of a Pilot is more necessary and useful in a Ship then the skill of the Marriners: As the valour of a Commander in chief, nay an infirm and weak Commander, is more important in an Army, and contributes more to Victory then the valour of Souldiers who are in perfect health (which hath caused this saying, That Stags which should have a Lyon for their Captain, might overcome Lyons which should be led by a Stag.) So in a Common-wealth, the vertue of Men which is on the commanding part and hath the superintendency and government, seems to be more advantagious then the vertue of Women, which is dependant and subalte • n, and hath only by natural Right a docility, subjection and obedience.

Secondly, What is said of Good, is to be said of Vertue. That Vertue which is the most common, and whose limits are least restrained, which acts the most universally and in more then in one place; which extends it self to more subjects, to more uses, and to a larger space, ought to be without doubt the most beneficial to the Publick; as it is in its self the most perfect, and in its Stock and Natural Goods. Now the vertue of a Man is dispersed through the whole Body of the Common-wealth: It act • s in all the parts thereof, and gives to every one that life and motion which is proper to it. All Civil Functions appertain to it, All Military offices enter into its Duty: Churches and Tribunals, City and Country, the Court and Desert are under its jurisdiction; and consequently for this consideration it cannot be disputed in point of utility with the vertue of a Woman, which is a particular and quiet vertue, a restrain'd and sedentary vertue; a Vertue which scarce goes abroad without staining its self, or at least without blushing, which can no further inlarge its self then the length of the silken and woolen tyes, wherewith it is fastened to its home.

In fine, Vertue is more profitable where it is most active; It is most active where it is most vigorous: And doubtless it must be more vigorous in subjects naturally solid and fortified by use, then in weak and slothful ones, where it is weak and remiss. It is then more vigorous and active, and consequently of greater utility in a man who is of a stronger and more solid complexion then a Woman; and who hath more vigour, more s ••• dness, more constancy, and more natural stability. And this Reason added to the two former, seems to conclude for us, and to give the prize to the vertue of our Sex.

However the vertue of Women hath likewise its right and pretentions: 〈◊〉 grounded upon Reasons and Examples: It can alledge for its self Experience and 〈◊〉 : And if we give credit thereto, it wants but indifferent and dis • ntere •• ed Judges, and an eloquent and famed Advocate for 〈◊〉 of its cause. Though I have never been at the Bar nor possess that valent of Spirit and Language, wherewith combats are sought in the long Robe; yet I will adventure to say something in its behalf. And if heretofore Military Orders have been instituted to defend it with Arms, I believe that without deserting the cause, one may at present defend it with the Pen.

To begin then by giving an Answer to the Reasons of the adverse pa •• y, I say, It is certain that Publick Good is rather a work of Vertue which commands and governs, then of that which obeys and is governed. But it is 〈◊〉 certain, whether this commanding and ruling Vertue be ••• ely on out side it is found also on the other, and not as a stranger. It acquits it self there in the same charge, and executes all the Functions which 〈◊〉 can perform amongst us: And sometimes these charges succeed there more happily; these Functions are performed with more address and with a better grace Assuredly of this Vertue found any opposition, either Natural or Moral to our Sex, Ar ••• isia and Zenobia, Tul •• eria and Amalasenta would be no less prodigious then the fabulous 〈◊〉 and Gorgone's. And the wonder would be no less rare to see a Woman reign, then to see a Woman flie▪ Yet that is not so, and the number of Princesses is large enough▪ who have governed more happily and with more dexterity, I say 〈◊〉 weak Princes such as 〈◊〉 the simple; I say capable and able ones, even those capable and able Princes, who have most affected to be like Tiberrus.

As for what hath been said, that the most diffused Vertue, and the most universal in its actions, is the most beneficial to the Publick; I confess that it hath been spoken judiciously and with reason: But the Vertue of Women hath been wrongfully and injuriously represented as an honorable Captive, to whom its house was given for a Prison, and was bound with tyes of thred and couen. I know not whether the use and custom of this Age have not in this point offered violence to Nature: But I know very well that there was a time when it was more free: and that the Vertue of Women, less restrained then now it is, served more profitably in all the parts of the Rebulick. The Jews had Women Generals of Armies, and Women Judges and Prophetesses: Women have publickly taught Philosophy and Rhetorick at Athens: A Woman succeeded in the School and reputation of Plo ••• us in Alexandria. The Universities of Palus and Bo • g •• have had women Graduats and Readers: And to say nothing of those whom Orators, Poets, and Painters have had for their Competitors and Rivals, there is scarce any Nation which hath not furnished Historie with Heroesses and Amazons.

It hath been said in the third place that Vertue is more active, and consequently more beneficial in a strong subject wherein it is vigorous, then in a weak one wherein it is remiss. This Proposition being understood of the vigorous operation of the soul, contributes nothing to a Man, not takes nothing from a Woman. Their souls are essentially equal and of the same temper: There are some Men indeed in whom Wit and Courage, Discourse and Resolution (which are the Nerves and Muscles of the Soul) have less hold and vigour, then in many Women. And that if the Proposition be understood of the strength of the Body, and the solidity of Matter it is from our purpose, and carries besides our Level. Vertue is not of so low a degree: It hath not been given us to bear great burthens, and to hew down Trees: And the Moral hath not placed amongst the qualities of a good Magistrate, and the conditions of a perfect Prince, the strength of the arms, and the breadth of the shoulders.

From this consideration then, the equality is at least seeming between the vertue of a Man, and that of a Woman. And some person who would not rest satisfied with having reconciled the parties, and reduced their pretensions to equality, might adde over and above to the right of Women a new weight of Reasons, which would carry it against the right of Men. First he might say, that the particular disposition of Families and the Families themselves, resemble particular States, and abbreviated Kingdoms, in which Women Reign. If they be Wise, Vertue and Peace Reign there joyntlie with them: And from this Peace of well ordered Houses, the publick tranquillity, and good order of Cities ariseth.

Unto that, he might adde that the matter and first seed of mens Vertues comes from a good birth, and is form'd by good Education: And that the Vertue of Women contributes much to a good Birth, and doth all in matter of good Education. It doth not import that Man should be the first Principal or Original of Man, and that a Woman should be but the second and subaltern. Thus is the Sun the first Producer of Trees and Mettals, and yet Trees are good or bad according to the disposition of the Earth which is their common Mother: And under one Sun Gold and Palm-Trees are produced in one place; and elswhere nothing but clay and thornes▪ It is the same with men; if there be of them Intellectual and Stupid, Couragious and Faint hearted, Modest and Insolent, all these good and bad qualities derive from the Vertues or Vices of their Mothers. They take in their wombs by track of time, and drop by drop the different 〈◊〉 and several tinctures of good and evil, sleep'd in their blood and mingled with their humors: as Potters Clay receives a good or bad shape from the Mould in which its Cast.

I 〈◊〉 very well what de • terous and careful Tutors are able to perform, and what is done in Colledges and Academies. But surely what address soever these Tutors have, and what Care so ever they imploy, yet they change not the matter which they work upon. Iron becomes not gold in the hands of the Goldsmith. Nor is Earth converted into Marble under the hands of the Engraver. Precious matters ought to come from the Quarry and Mine: And Noble Subjects and capable of handsom formes, are to be composed in the Mothers womb. I speak nothing of Education, which is a painful generation and of long labor, and a Birth of many years It is certain that this Education is effected by the cares and hands of Women And if children be like shape-less lumps, to which it is necessary that the tongues of Mothers should give the right form; it cannot be doubted but these tongues give them also the tincture, either of vertue or vice, according to the good or evil qualities wherewith they are indued.

In fine, one might alledge for the last proof of this Discourse, that the vertue of Women is more efficacious then ours; and that our Examples are not so much followed nor run after in such throngs as theirs; whether by reason Meekness is more attractive and perswasive then Force, and that pleasing Originals never want Coppiers: Whether by reason guides of this Nature take away all excuses from the Faint-hearted and Tamerous: and that there is no Person who dares complain of the thornes and •• ggedness of the way in their Company: Whether by reason all men being either Sons of Husbands to some Women, the Sons follow by instinct, of out of respect the wills of their Mothers; and the Husbands accommodate themselves out of friendship or complacencie to the inclinations of their Wives. And for these reasons the vertue of Women being generally followed, and having Imitators in both Sexes, it seems one may conclude, that their Sex is more profitable, and more conducing to the Publick Good.

IMpetuous Rivers which precipitate themselves with noise, stay Passengers, and beget Spectators. And the quiet ones which gently and in silence 〈◊〉 those places through which they pass, scarce finde any one to behold them. Nevertheless these impetuous Rivers are dangerous neighbours. They never do good which is not accompanied without some dammage: And their manner of enriching is commonly by ruine and waste. It is even so with Military and Calm Vertues; both of them are serviceable and beneficial to the Publick: But the Military do not profit innocently and without prejudice. They only repair those ruines which themselves have made: And the riches which they distribute are slained with Blood, and acquired by Rapine. However by reason they make a noise and act tumultuarily, men run from all parts of the World to see them. Their Memory receives Elogies in every Language, and Applauses from all sorts of hands; And their Images are preserved with honour in History. From thence comes it that all Writers make so glorious mention of Warlike women, and that on the contrary they scarce take notice of the Peaceable, who have effected Good in a calm repose, and by wayes usual and proper to their Sex.

Th •••• linda was one of these peaceable, obliging, and less famous Women: And perchance we should not have at present any picture of her, if the Great St▪ Gregory had not taken the paines to draw it with the same hand, wherewith he Administred the Sacrament, Blessed the People, and wrought Miracles. She was the Daughter of one 〈◊〉 King of 〈◊〉 : And that which is very wonderfull, though she were born in a half barbarous Age, and more then three hundred Leagues from the Roman Excellency and Learning, yet she equalled the Memory of the most Accomplished, and Learned of Ancient Rome. The chief thing is that her Science had no resemblance with those specious and superficial Sciences which serve only for shews she was pleasing and solid, she delighted beneficially, and with profit: and all the lights of her minde were beneficiall and fruitfull.

So perfect and so adorned a Vertue required a more glorious Theatre, and less distant from the eye of the world then 〈…〉 King of Lumbardy, enamoured with her reputation, sent a magnificent Embassie to the King her Father, to ask her in Marriage. And his Embassadors being returned with satisfaction, he undertook upon their relation a great piece of Gallantry, and resolved to go disguised unto the Court of Bav ••• a, to be a Spectator of the wonders which Fame published of Theodelinda. He saw her, he was vanquished by her; and returned more wounded by her presence, then he had been by her reputation. A while after the Marriage was celebrated in great pomp at Milan: And there was nothing wanting to the happiness of their Marriage, but the lasting of it. But what help for this▪ Is there not some malignant Constellation which causeth the best Fortunes to be less constant and lasting then the bad? Hath not Time a spight chiefly to handsome lives, and beautifull Couples? And do we not see that Roses last but a day, and Thornes a whole year?

Nevertheless, this Marriage, which lasted so short a time, was to Lumbardy the beginning of a long and important happiness. Autharus who had War with 〈◊〉 , being enforced to take the field, to stop the Conquests of the French, who were entred into his Country, Theodel ••• a in the interim staid behinde, intrusted with the Government of the State. It was very difficult to have good success therein, being young, a stranger, and unacquainted with the Country. Notwithstanding she did undergo this Office with so good a grace; she governed so judiciously; and shewed so much courage and dexterity in the managing of Affairs, as she gained the approbation of all degrees: and in less then six moneths she became the absolute Mistress of all hearts. Not one remained free; not one which would not be hers. And by a strange revolution, at the same time that Auth • rus and Childebert fought for the Crown of Lumbardy, Theolelin •• a vanquished it without Arms, and took it innocently both from the Possessor and Pretender.

This was not done by a trick of Fortune: she is without motion, and may well be sported with, but can sport with no man. It was done by a particular design of Divine Providence, which was willing to prescribe a great imployment to the Vertue of 〈◊〉 , and to make use of her for the good of the Church. In effect, Autharus dyed before the end of the War: and the Lumbardus not finding themselves strong enough for the French, made as Honourable an Accommodation as they could with Childebert. Their first care after the conclusion of Peace, was to choose a fit person to fill up the Throne, which Autharus dying without Children, left vacant. It is apparent that the Customes of Nations, the Interests of State, and the Pretentions of particular persons would have 〈◊〉 return into Bar •• ta. Her Vertue yet carryed it against Custome: the Graces made sure for her, and gained all the voyces on her side: and by a general consent her hands already accustomed to govern well, were judged the most proper to mannage happily the interests of the State, and to divert with addresses the mischief which was feared from the ambition of par •••• lar persons.

The Crown was solemnly delivered up to her: And from that time she began to Reign of her self; and by the right of her Vertue, which is the fairest right of Kings, and the most illustrious claim which can enter into their 〈◊〉 . Surely this cannot be paralleld in History▪ And there would need a very perswasive vertue and of great authority to effect it. They must be Graces of a high expectation, and of a fair carriage, which could gain with so much ease upon great Ambitious Men, and a mercenary People; and procure the unitement of them both, in the choice of a Woman and a Stranger Being satisfied of her dexterity and capacity, they invested her with absolute Power and Soveraignty without restriction. They did not imitate those that binde their Princes upon their Thrones, who tye their hands to the Scepter which they make them bear, and take from them dispolute of the same Authority which they give them. They only declare unto her that if after the having tryed the weight of Regality, she should think fit to share it with a Husband; they wished that she world seek no Forreign assistance, but settle her affection upon some person of that Kingdom.

Confirmed by this proposition, and by the advice of her Councel, she cast her eyes upon 〈◊〉 Duke of Th ••• n, and divided with him her Person and Regality. This 〈◊〉 was a young Prince of a handsom aspect and of 〈◊〉 courage, who was endued with all the Qualities fit to undertake and overcome: And it was to be • eared, le • t Fortune, which he might court, should raise him to the Throne, had not 〈◊〉 prevented her. Not content to have made him a great King, she undertook to make him a Catholick King, and to withdraw him out of the slavery of the Arian Heresie. This was evidently an enterprize of greater labour and of longer time, then all those which are performed with iron and silver Engines, with • leets and Armed Nations. Nevertheless she accomplished it by her cares and good offices, with Prayers and • ears. Her Prayers drew upon 〈◊〉 the light of Heaven: And every Tear proved a perswasive reason to him, which all the Arian Doctors were never able to answer.

Her conquest reacheth farther then one individual soul, though it were a Soveraign one and raised above others. It was more ample and of greater advantage to the Church. The chief Noblemen of the Kingdom, and almost the whole People being converted by the Conversion of their new King, submitted with him to the zeal and piety of their good Queen: And this zeal was so 〈◊〉 is, and of so great authority, this piety was so efficacious and victorious, that in a very short time all 〈◊〉 , and the Provinces subject to it, abjured Arianism, and became Catholique, by the industry of a Woman She effected much more and advanced the •• tivity of her zeal, and the victories of her piety to a higher degree. Adalulsus had increased his sins and dominions by the violated rights of the Church, and by usurped Lands. He had thrown Catholique Bishops out of their Seas, and introduced into the sheepfold disguised Thieves, publike impoisoners, and Doctors of Error and Pestilence. The vertuous Queen enjoyed no repose till the good Pastors were recalled; till the Church was re-established in her Rights and Honors; and till restitution was made her 〈◊〉 the • ands which impetuous and bold Heresie had taken from her.

These actions did not proceed from an unprofitable and idle Vertue: The most couragious and warlike ones did never act so vigorously, and with so much success. And all the Crowns gained by the valiant Women in this History were never worth so much as a flowre of Theodelind's Crown. The great Saint Gregory, who governed the Church at that time, understood the weight and importance of her Services: And being willing to reader her publike and lasting thanks for them, he Dedicated his Dialogues to her by a Preface, wherein she triumphs to this day: and wherein there i • not a word which is not worth a Statue erected to her Vertue.

Some time after the E • ark of Ravenna did over-run the Territories of Agilulsus, and took in some Places which lay convenient for him, and were ill guarded. This •• on, which was become more gentle, yet had not suffered himself to be enchained, quickly found again his Teeth and Claws, and hastened to take revenge. All things tended to a perilous and scandalous War; and not only the E • ark • at of Ravenna, but even the Patrimony of Saint Peter was in danger, if 〈◊〉 , gained by Saint Gregory, had not extinguished by her dexterity and Tears the fire which already began to be inkindled. Thereby she preserved liberty to the Church and sacred things: she freed the Church from her yoke: she brake in pieces the Chaines prepared for the successor of the Apostles, and chased away the Barbarians from before Rome. Her whole life was thus powerfull: And I know not whether there ever passed away one hour of it which was not beneficiall both to the Publike and particular persons. The most Magnificent Churches were built by her: and what is more to be prized then many erected Churches, was, that by her cares and good offices Lumbardy re-entred into the Church. But we must not make a whole Book of one Example▪ And I have sufficiently discoursed of it, to encourage the Vertue of Women, to give them a holy and profitable Emulation, to withdraw them from idleness; to make them understand, that Christian Conquests, Conversions of People, Heroick Works, and great Crowns belong as well to their Sex as ou • s.

IT is true that the Reign of the fift Caesar was but a perpetual Comedy: But the Interludes thereof were bloody and Tra •• call: And cruelty was almost continually mixed there, with the loves of Messal •• , and the Impostures of Nar • issa. The Spectators grew at length weary of so ill composed and represented a Scene: And some of the least patient, and most Couragious amongst them, resolved to force the Republike out of the hands of these Stage-Players. Nevertheless the Conspirators failing in the success they promised themselves, 〈◊〉 , who was their Head, happened to be killed in 〈◊〉 : And his Complices, abandoned by reason of his death, remained in the power of the Beast, whom they had inraged.

Afterwards 〈◊〉 , who was the most ingaged in the Plot, was apprehended and brought to Rome. The Couragious and Faithful Arria did not deliberate, whether she ought to follow him. It came not into her thoughts that Adversity was a Divorce: she did not believe that bad Fortune ought to be more powerful then Love; nor that it could Lawfully dissolve Marriages. On the contrary, she believed that she was the Wife of Cicinna, a Criminal and Prisoner, as she had been of Cicinna's a Favourite and Consul; and that she ought to have as great a share in his Chains and Punishments, as she had in his Fortunes and Glory. She accompanied him to the Ship: And at the instant of Imbarking, seeing her self put back by the Guards: You will permit at least, saith she, that a Senator of an ancient Consulary Race, may have some body to wait upon him, during so long a Voyage. I alone will supply the Places of his Attendants: And the Ship will not be the more burthened, nor the more exposed to Tempests.

None being able to perswade these Barbarous People to receive her all entire, she did not forbear in spight of them, to imbark her spirit and heart with her Husband; and that she might follow him, at least in part, she put her Body into a Fishermans Bark, and exposed it to the Winds and Waves which carried away the rest. Fortune favoured so couragious a Fidelity: The Spirit and Body of Arria arrived at Rome at the same time: And being re-united at their arrival, did joyntly and with mutual cares sollicite the freedom of Cicinna. Her endeavours finding ill success, she resolved to die: And she sufficiently explained her self, by the reproach she used towards the wife of 〈◊〉 for surviving the death of her Husband, slain in her bosom.

Her Son-in-Law Thrascus alledged all that he could devise to perswade her to live: All that he could invent not prevailing with her: You have a mind then, saith he, that your Daughter should abandon her self to the like despair: And you condemn her to die with me, when Fortune shall ordain that I must perish. My Example doth not condemn her (replyed she:) And when she shall have lived as long, and with as sweet an harmony, as I have done with Cicinna, she may die boldly without my coming back to take the sword out of her hand, or the poison out of her mouth. Her kindred being advertised by this Answer, that her Resolution was of more force then their Reasons, they renewed their cares and diligences towards her. She besought them to suffer her quietly to die, and not to change an easie death into a painfull one Having said this, she violently threw her self against the next Wall, and fell into a swound. Being come again to her self with much ado: I did tell you, saith she, that all you could do, was but to hinder me from dying quietly and at ease.

All the violent Attempts which Arria made upon her soul, did not loosen the soul of Cicinna, nor perswaded it to depart Honourably out of the World, and without expecting the violence of his Enemies. She went at last to see him; And declared to him, that if he had not courage enough to go first, he ought at least to have enough to follow her. She represented to him on the one side, the shame of being continually made a 〈◊〉 game by a prostituted Woman and an insolent Servant, who made a Scene of the Court, and a Fantome of his Masters. On the other side she remonstrated to him the Infamy which the Executioner left to the Ashes and Memory of those that died by his hands. She often repeated to him, that death was only terrible to irresolute and timerous persons: That it doth never wound such Couragious Souls, as loosen voluntarily themselves, and prevent the hand of force. That this last Act would be more looked upon in History, then his Consulship; and would be more resplendent then the Triumphs of his Ancestors. And perceiving that he still deliberated between Resolution and Fear, she plung'd a Dagger into her own bosom, which she had provided for that purpose: And then drawing it forth warm and dropping, she presented it to him with these words, which were the most Heroick and Victorious that ever issued from a Romans mouth: Take this Dagger Cicinna, it hath done me no harm. Cicinna received from her hand, with the Weapon, the Spirit and Courage which came forth of her wound: And died rather by the Magnanimity of Arria, then by his own Courage.

LEt Christian Ladies learn of this Idolatress, in what dis-interessed Love and conjugal Fidelity doth consist: Let them observe how many Combats she hath fought, and how many Victories she hath gained. She had a present and future Interest in his Possessions and Hopes. She was Young, Rich, and the friend of Messal •• : She might have left her husband to Justice, and reserved her self for a better Fortune, and a more happy Marriage. Her Riches, her Beauty, her Youth were no Criminals: They had not conspired against the Prince: And it was not against them Commissioners were appointed, and Informations given. She rejected nevertheless, the Temptations of her Age and Interest. She listened only to her Fidelity and Love: And taught her whole Sex by her Example, that a good Woman hath no other Interest, then her Hu • band; that to her, there was but one Man in all the World; and that he dying, Riches, Youth and Beauty die to her.

Arria likewise reads a second Lesson to Women, which is no less important, nor less useful then the first: she teacheth them how that Person is deceived, who said that Marriage was but a name of pleasure: And that even now adayes they are much mistaken, who believe it to be a community of Goods and Fortunes. It is a name of Yoke and Affliction, a community of Evils and Troubles; a society of Cares and Labours. And it is fit that young Women should be advertized on the day of their Marriage, that they are not to be Marryed only for that day, but for all the rest which are to follow, how stormy soever they may prove, and what unpleasing hours soever they may have. They ought to know, that with the person of their Husbands, they espouse all their present and future Fortunes; and that they are obliged to follow them, to what place soever the wind drives them, in what storm soever the Heavens pours down upon them. But this ve • ity will be more enlarged in the ensuing Question.

I Could not as yet Divine, why Married Women are crowned, and 〈…〉 celebrated with so great pomp, and with so much joy. 〈…〉 properly, and without a figure; it is to adorn Slaves and 〈…〉 it is to lead them to Prison in pomp and jollity; it is 〈…〉 them with Ceremony and Musick. I am well read in the 〈…〉 Custom: I see very well that Time, Example, and the 〈…〉 People are for it But I know also, that Antiquity is neither all 〈…〉 Holy. The first Men may have left us their abuses as well as then 〈◊〉 : And old Errours are not better conditioned then 〈…〉 are not justified by the crowd of those that commit them▪ It were 〈…〉 to the purpose, and of far better example, that the Wedding • of Christians should be grave and modest: That the Ceremony should be serious and frugal; and that instead of being an object of access and pleasure for new married Couples, it should be a Lesson of Petience, and a preparative to Troubles. There would not be seen so many Rich persons •• umbred, nor so many Innocent Repentants. There would not so many complain of being caught by a specious bait; who curse the flowers under which so many thornes have been hid. They would have at least made trial of the burthen before they laid it on their shoulder • They would have measured the • forces with this yoke: They would have •• epared their courage, and head to bear it cheerfully.

〈◊〉 even as I say, and it is profitable to be often said; to the end Ignorance may not give way to Decent. Marriage is not what it appears afar off and 〈◊〉 . It hath not only more thornes then flowers, and more bad then good moments: Not only the dayes of mourning and 〈…〉 there longer and more numerous then the Festival ones: But what is more strange, there is not one thorn, which causes not a double 〈…〉 one single touch. There is not one bad moment, which is not reckoned 〈◊〉 No day of mourning or vexation, which is not double I mean that a married Woman besides her particular thornes and pains which 〈◊〉 proper to her, ought over and above, and by the obligation of 〈…〉 , to burthen her self with the troubles and afflictions of her Hu • band. She ought to expose her self to the same dangers, and to 〈◊〉 of the same storms. It is not allowed her to be at quiet, whilst 〈…〉 him: She cannot handsomly shelter her self from the 〈◊〉 which are cast against him: She ought to be tossed up and down with him, to have her share in all the strokes be receives; to bleed at all his wounds. And this is according to Justice▪ and Law, even natural Justice and the fundamental Law of Marriage.

First, If we consider the End which God proposed to himself in the Creation of Woman; we shall finde that she was given to Man to be his Domestique assistant, a neer Co-adjutress, and of the same Birth with him. Now it is certain that assistances and services are not necessary for any body in time of Prosperity. Good Fortune hath no need of comfort or support; of having her Tears dryed up, or her Blood stanched. It is not for her, Oyles and Balm is provided, that Plaisters and Seat clothes are made: She hath a sound Body and a free Minde: She is equally discharged from all that is Burthensom and Afflicting. It is only to bad Fortune, Charity and Compassion, I eniti • es and Remedies are necessary. She is always either Sick or Wounded in some part: Her eyes are never dry; her Wounds are never closed; and at all times, she hath need of a Preparative and Consolation, of a Physitian and Philosopher. Women, who are Naturally Assistants to Men, and their Co-adjutresses by Divine Institution, appertain more to their Husbands when Suffering and Persecuted, then when Happy and in Favour. And surely their Offices would not be very important, not their Cares very considerable and usefull, if they should be willing to be accommodated with their Husbands Riches, and Illustrious with their Dignity and Glory; if they should freely offer themselves to accompany them in Purple, and under a Canopy of State; if they should make no difficulty to share in their Feasts, and to receive with them the gifts of Fortune: And yet when those Feasts were over, and another Fortune arrived; they should become Strangers in their Houses, and to their Husbands; they should be unwilling to suffer with them one drop of rain; they should not speak to them but at distance, and with a scornfull gesture, as if the very • ight of their Husbands portended mischief, and that even their shadow were become infectious.

Let us add for a second Reason, That as at the Creation of Woman, God considered the incommodities of Solitude, & the need man had of a Companion and Assistant; so he considered what was wanting to his entire Perfection, and would not that so noble a Work, and begun with so much Art, should remain Defective, and like those rough-drawn pieces in which there is nothing formed but the Head. He then Created Woman, and gave her to Man, not only as an Officious and Affectionate Co-adjut ••• s; but as a second Moity, and as a necessary part to his Perfection. God having formed and joyned together these two Pieces, he declared in express terms that his Design was, that they should make but one Body: And it is in this sense the words of Saint Paul ought to be understood, when he saith, Man is the 〈◊〉 of the Woman. This second Reason is yet more precise and pressing then the former▪ And wives thereby are more straightly obliged to take part in either Fortune of their Husbands. And certainly if a Calm and Tempest be common to those that sayl in the same Vessel: If all the Persons of one house have the same days and nights and suffer joyntly all the inequalities of Seasons: The Community doubtless ought to be more entire, and better linked together between the parts of the same Body: and this would be strange and seem Monstrous, if their Sentiments were not equal, and their Compassion mutual: But it would truly exceed all that is strange and exorbitant, if in the Compound, which is made of Wife and Husband, whilst that part which Governs is in Mourning and Affliction, the other which is subject should be jocund, and play the Wanton, and would leave off nothing of her Ornaments or Pleasures: If the Body of a Wounded and bleeding Head were delightfully adorned, covered over with Perfumes, and loadon with Flowers: If a Wife would make one at all Meetings of Pleasure, and take her share in all Divertisements, whilst her Husband suffers the rack of the Sciatica, and the torture of the Stone.

One may also say, the better to establish this Duty, and perswade it more efficaciously, that amongst all kinds of Friendships, there is not any so straight, not better linked together then that of Marriage. It is not exteriour and superficial, like other Amities: Nor is it upheld like those by civil Tyes, which are weak, and break asunder if never so little touched. It is an Union of the whole Soul and Body; the Tyes thereof are firm and solid. There is Nature and Grace in it: The whole Person is fastned therewith; and Time, which wears out Brass and Steel, cannot dissolve them. Now Friendship, as every one knows, is a Community of Sentiments, and Wills, of Joyes and Afflictions, of good and evil Fortunes. We are further advertised by the Wife, that blessings cannot 〈◊〉 there but after evils: And that good Fortune ought not to have any place there, but as succeeding to the bad. Whereupon we may remember the words of Seneca, who saith, that such Persons understand not Friendship, as seek in a Friend a merry and Table Companion, a Solicitor of 〈◊〉 ▪ an Agent of favour, a Mediator of Fortune: That we must seek out a Person with whom we may cheerfully enter into Prison, whose Bondage and Chains we bear; A man in whose company we suffer Shipwrack without exclaiming against the Planets, or complaining of the Tempest; A man for whom we endure the Wrack without pain, for whom we die smiling and with Joy. And if common Friendship, which is free and superficial, and supported only by Nature, hath so painful Duties, and so heavy and hazardous burthens, what must be the Duties and Burthens of the Friendship of Marriage, which is so interiour and necessary, which hath the assistance of God, and the Vertue of the Sacrament; which is sustained by Nature, and fortified by Grace? Can it be either Interessed or Timerous, with any Decency? can it handsomly express a niceness can it apprehend sorrow and death? can it avoid bad Fortune?

I might also affirm, that this Duty is reckoned amongst the comely qualities of a Wife, and the honour of a Family; and that no baser perspective can be seen in a house, then a sick and afflicted Husband, and a gossiping and tricked up Wife. This defect wounds generally all eyes: and there are no Pictures in Italy, not Forreign Landschaps: there are no Ancient or Modern Figures can rectifie it. Honor and decency is not only concerned therein, but even contentment and satisfaction. And as hands touch tenderly a sick and wounded head, and as it is a torment to them if they be hindred from easing its pain, and touching its wounds: so a good wife, who hath a heart truly fixed, who is indu • d and penetrated by the Grace of the Sacrament, cannot have a purer satisfaction, then to suffer with her husband. And should even good Fortune her self tye her hands and feet to detain her by force with her, and should hinder her from following her persecuted and unfortunate husband; good Fortune would be abhorred by her with all her kindnesses: and were her tyes made of Crowns and Diadems, they would be unsupportable to her.

For these reasons Ar •• a accompanyed Cicinna to death after she had followed him through rocks and tempests. 〈◊〉 dyed couragiously with S • bi • , after she had lived nine years enterred with him: Hypsicratea hardned the tenderness of her Sex and condition, made the Graces and Beauty warlike, that she might accompany Mit • ridates, pursued by the Romans and Fortune: And generally all the faithfull Women in ancient times have performed the famous and exemplar actions which we behold with applause in History.

IF there were great Vices in Nero's Age, there were also eminent and very exemplar Vertues. The darkest nights have their Planets: And in the worst Seasons, the Sun hath his good Intervals, and fair hours. This Monster inrag'd against Reason, which made him see his Errours, fell upon Seneca, who had cleer'd and disciplin'd that faculty in him; As if it had proceeded from the Masters fault, who polished the Glass, and not from his own Deformity, that he was hideous. He then gave order for his death: And this excellent Man, who was grown old under another Mistress then this slight fencing Philosophy, which is only bold in a School and against Fantosmes, was ready to submit to this barbarous Command for proof of his Doctrine, and to put in Practice what he had set forth in Propositions and Opinions.

When it was time to depart, he did not so much as turn his head to listen to Fortune, who solicited, and called him to the Empire. He departed out of a house more worth then ten Millions, as if he had gone out of a thatch • d 〈◊〉 . He shewed himself only sensible for Paulina, whom he le • t young, and exposed to the outrages of a bad season, and the insolencies of a Tyrant, who had caused it. He endeavoured to perswade her to live, and take comfort in her own Vertue, and the Goods he had left her. But she remonstrated to him, that these indulgent and careful perswasions were not fit to be used to the Wife of Seneca. That his Example counselled her better, then his Reasons: That it taught as well as Philosophy, how to die resolutely and with courage. Their veins were opened with the same Lancet: they mingled their Blood, their Spirits, and Examples: And the soul of Paulina would have followed that of Seneca, if it had not been detained at the last step she was to make. Nero apprehending, lest the death of so illustrious a Lady, and of so high a Reputation might compleat the drawing on him a publick hatred, sent Souldiers, who bound up her veins, and used violence to make her live. But she retained all that she could of death, which was then kept from her: And ever after conserved the desire of it in her heart, and the paleness of it upon her face.

HEnry the Eight being dead, stain'd with the blood of those Martyrs which he had made; and amidst the Ruines of the Church of England, which he had overthrown, Edward the Son of Scymer his third Wife, succeeded to his Crown and Dominions: But as there is no Seed so unhappy, nor of so short a durance as that of wicked men; so the Excommunication and Curse, which had been Fulminated against the Father, being fallen upon the Son, this poor Prince died before he knew well how to live. And by a Will which he made, through the perswassions of Dudley Duke of Northumberland, Jane Gray was declared his Heir. It may be said, without detraction, that this Will was dictated by Ambition: But it may also be said without flattery, that it was made in savour of the Graces and Vertues, to the advantage of the Sciences and Muses: And the Crown of England could not be placed upon a more beautiful head, or which could do it more Honour, then that of the Lady Iane.

She was born with those Attractives and Charmes, which seat a kinde of Soveraignty upon the face of the most beautiful Persons, and which give a Natural Unction to them, and a Diadem without gold or precious stones: Her minde was endued with far more soveraign Attractives, and with Charms of far greater force then her face. And these native and adorning Graces, were accompanied with other acquired and profitable ones, which much increased their value, and gave them a second tincture of goodness, and a new lustre. She spake both Greek and Latine as if she had been of Athens and Rome: she had an exact knowledge of the Liberal Sciences, and perfectly understood both kinds of Philosophy. But that which is more to be esteemed then all her Philosophy, more th • n all these Sciences and Tongues; is that during the Raign of Vice and Liberty in the time of Henry the Eighth, and after the scandal of Anne of Bullen, she was possessed with the Modesty and Vertue of these blessed dayes, when England was called the Country of Angels.

Nevertheless we must speak the truth: All these so rare and highly p ••• ed qualities, were not considered in the Will, which was made in favour of Iane. Edward died as weak as he had lived: He abandoned his last Testament to the will of the Duke of Northumberland, as he had done all the rest, and the Duke abused him in his death, as he had done in his youth. This ambitious Minister of State, not being content with having Raigned without a Crown by the toleration of his Master to whom he had left but a specious Regality, and a coloured Dignity; perceiving a gate open, by which Iane, who was married to the Lord Guilford his fourth son, might bring the Crown into his House, he undertook to take it from the Kings sister, and to set it upon her Head, either by Right or Force.

To this effect he besieges the minde of this poor Prince, already spent with his sickness, and disquiered at the presence of death. He was made believe that he could not in Conscience call to the Succession, either Mary the daughter of Katherine of Aragon, or Elizabeth daughter of Anne of Bullen. He alledgeth against the first, that being cut off the Royal Family by the Divorce of her Mother, she could not be restored to it without condemning the Memory of the deceased King, and without giving Credit and Authority to the Roman Tyranny. He opposed against the other that being stained with the Adulteries and the punishment of her Mother, she would fully the Honour and Dignity of the Crown if she had but touchd it. From thence he concludes, that Iane Gray descended from Henry the seventh by Mary, heretofore Queen of France, being the last drop of Royal blood, which was sound yet pure and without stain; he could not make another Heir, without casting Fire into the Royal Family.

The Declaration was made for these reasons in favour of lane: The Councel of four and twenty approve it, notwithstanding the opposition of the Archbishop of Canterbury: And two dayes after, the King rendring up his soul, Iane is declared Queen of England. Her Father the Duke of Suffolk, and the Duke of Northumberland, Father to her Husband, went to acquaint her with this news, and prepare her to receive chearfully so great a Fortune. This Fortune was the first dangerous Temperess, against which Iane had need of Inspirations, and helps from Philosophy.

And here it will be confessed, that one ought to be supported by Philosophy; That one ought to have a heart extreamly good, and a strong head peece, not to fall into a Trance at such news. Reason ought to be very clear, and the understanding very pure to recive without amazement so sudden and surprising a vapour. I might also apprehend that I should not be believed, but rather accused of an Hyperbole, if I said, that Iane received one of the greatest Crowns of the World, with the same Moderation, as if she had received a Posie of Violets. Regality is not a present to be taken with heaviness, and a negligent hand. It is a kinde of humane Deification: It is the 〈◊〉 between God and Man: And even the Philosophers and Sages, I mean austere Philosophers, and unbyassed Sages, have in all times esteemed it so much, that Pythag • ras and Zeno, the Patriarks of Stoicks, and the most zealous Preachers of Indolence and Aspirity, seeing themselves not called to Soveraignty by Fortune, and not knowing how to attain to it by a straight and lawful way, were so bold as to use violence, and aspire to it by Tyrannie. However I will not descend from so high a proposition: I intend to go yet higher, and will rise to something which is more eminent and more Heroick. Iane would have received at least civilly, and with thanks a Posie of Violets: She absolutely refused the Crown of England: And this so gallant and generous a refusal proceeded from a more Stoical soul then that of Zeno, from a more Philosophical heart then that of Pythagoras.

Not that she did not well understand the value of this Crown which she refused: Nor was she affrighted with so resplendent a Fortune, as she would have been terrified by a luminous Fantosme presented before her eyes. But she knew also that there was Weight and Thornes in this Crown▪ And this Fortune with all its Glory, and all these Charms did not tempt her, not appeared to her so lovely, as Justice, Tranquility, or Philosophy. Solicited by the Supplications and Reasons of her Kindred and Husband, who press'd her to consent to her greatness, and not to reject a Felicity which is rare, and never presents it self twice to the same Gate: She answered, that the Laws of the Kingdom, and Natural right standing for the Kings Sisters, she would beware of burthening her Head and Conscience with a Yoke which did belong to them: that she understood the Infamy of those who had permitted the violation of Right to gain a Crown. But it were to mock God, and deride Justice to scruple at the stealing of a shilling, and not at the Usurpation of a Crown. Besides, went she on, I am not so young, nor so little read in the guiles of Fortune to suffer my self to be taken by them: If she inrich any one, it is but to make him the subject of her spoil: If she raise others, it is but to please her self with their ruins. What she adored but yesterday, is to day her pastime. And if I now permit her to adorn and Crown me, I must to morrow suffer her to crush and tear me in pieces. Besides, with what Crown she doth present me? A Crown which hath been violently and shamefully wrested from Katherine of Arragon, who dislikes the punishment of Arme of Bullen, and of others, who wore it after her. Why would you have me add my blood to theirs, and to be the fourth Victime, from whom this Fatal Crown may be ravished with the Head? But in case it should not prove fatal to me, and that all its venom were consumed: If Fortune should give me warranties of her Constancy; should I be well advised to take upon me these Thornes which would delacerate, though not kill me outright; to burthen my self with a Yoke, which would not fail to torment me, though I were assured not to be strangled with it? My Liberty is better then the chain you proffer me, with what precious stones soever adorned, and of what gold soever framed. I will not exchange my Peace for Honourable and Precious Jealousies, for magnificent and glorious Fetters. And if you love me sincerely, and in good earnest, you will rather wish me a secure and quiet Fortune, though mean, then an elevated Condition exposed to the wind, and followed by some Dismal fall.

These Reasons were powerful, and must needs be perswasive, yet they took not effect: The ambition of the Dukes of Northumberland and Suffolk was more prevalent. The Lord Guilford fortified her with his reasons: And Iane overcome by so many pressing Solicitors, and in Authority, resigned to them her Freedom and Life. This resignation, proceeded from a Soveraign Vertue, and a consummated Philosophy: And not doubting but a Scaffold was prepared for her behinde the Throne; and that the Crown which was offered her might not cause the loss of her Head, she submitted her self to Fortune, and consented to accept of Soveraignty with more courage and moderation, then she had refused it. Matters being thus concluded, they brought her to London, where she was solemnly acknowledged Queen, and received with Ceremony, the Oath of Fealty from all degrees. But this Oath held as little as her Soveraignty. And scarce had she spent ten days in the Tower, according to the Ceremony observed by new Kings, but the Parliament and People retracted them Oath and Acclamations, and delivered her up to the Princess, Mary, her Rival, and the Lawful Heir of the Crown.

A more Eloquent man then my self, would say, that Fortune irritated by her Refusals, plaid her this Prank to humble her Virtue, and to take revenge of the cruelty of her Philosophy: I had rather say, and I will speak it more Christianly, and with more appearance of truth, that it was God who permitted this revolution, to save Jane by her fall; and to draw to himself by a Scaffold, so pure and couragious a Virtue, which evidently had perished if she had grown old upon the Throne. There are dangerous Prosperities, and scandalous • levations, which God grants us in his wrath. There are wholsom Adversities, and edifying Falls: And those happen to us when God resumes for us his thoughts of Peace, and disposeth us to Grace. Material men, who onely behold the present and outside of things, judge far otherwise of them: But this Judgement, to speak properly, is a Judgement of frantick men, who had rather dye with Ragou • s, then to be cured with Rhubarb; They triumph in the danger of their Souls, and praise God for the marks of Reprobation. They deplore the presages and earnest of their Salvation: And they desire so unhandsomly, they pray so propostrously, and in so bad terms, as if God were to punish them, he could not do it more severely, then in hearing their prayers, and g • anting their Petitions.

Iane judged more solidly of Gods designs, and of the course of his Providence: And albeit so great a Revolution was a very distasteful Remedy, yet she couragiously resigned her self thereunto, and took it with much cheerfulness. Being sent prisoner to the Tower of London, it was observed that she entred it with as Serene a countenance, and with the same dignity of look and action, as she had done the first time to begin the sad Ceremony of her fatal Reign. While she remained there, she remitted nothing of her Constancy, and her usual Studies. Vigour and Authority appeared in all her words: all her actions were free through the freedom of her Minde; which was enriched with a milde Grace, and a confident Modesty: And even in the Pallace, and upon the Throne it self, she could not have more Majesty, nor appear more Resplendant and Soveraign.

The Sentence of Death being pronounced, she Couragiously submitted to it, and answered nothing else, but That her Crime was not for having laid her hand upon the Crown, but for not having rejected it with force enough. That she had less erred through Ambition, then out of respect and reverence to her friends: That her respect, nevertheless, was a Crime, and that her reverence deserved punishment: that she would willingly admit of death▪ and that she could do no less then render satisfaction to the State, and voluntarily take off, and in obedience to the Laws, the Scandal which she had given by a forced Obedience and rendred by constraint to her kindred.

Her Husband condemned to the same punishment, having sent to give her the last visit, to the end he might arm himself with the example of her Constancy, and by the vertue of her last words. She sent him word, That he demanded a lenative, which would put fire into the wound; and that it was to be feared, her presence would rather weaken, then strengthen him. That he ought to take courage from his Reason, and derive Constancy from his own heart, and that if his soul were not firm and settled, she could not settle it by her eyes, nor confirm it by her words: That he should do well to remit this interview to the other world: That there, indeed friendships were happy, and Unions indissolvable; and that theirs would be •• ternal, if their souls carried nothing with them of Terrestrial, which might hinder them from rejoyning.

As she was led to the place of Execution, she passed by a Gallery from whence she saw her Husbands body carried to the Chappel of the Tower. This unexpected Object somewhat moved her, and begot compassion in her. But it was a manly, and wel becoming compassion; and this Emotion did not so strongly invade her mind, as to hinder it from furnishing her in repose with three Sentences, in three Languages. She wrote them down in her Table-book, which she gave to the Lieutenant of the Tower, with an excuse for the trouble she had given him. The Greek expressed, that if his Executed body should give testimony against her before men, his most blessed soul would give an Eternal proof in the presence of God, of her Innocence. The Latin added, that humane Justice was against his Body, but the Divine mercy would be for his Soul. The English concluded, that if her fault deserved punishment, her youth at least, and her imprudence, were worthy of excuse; and that God and posterity would shew her favor.

Constancie, Grace, and Majesty, which had ever accompanied her, ascended also upon the Scaffold with her. One would have said that all that was seen there could be nothing else but a meer representation of her punishment; And that all this Tragical preparation, was but a fiction, and a meer Ceremony. She rendred thanks to the Catholick Divine, who had assisted her, and comforted her dispairing servants, with so well composed a manner, and with so vigorous and Noble words, so full of Judgement and Courage, as it seemed to some, that if Philosophy her self had been to dye, she could not have dyed more couragiously, and with more Dignity.

She made her self ready for the stroak of the Executioner; and to humble her beauty, though it were innocent of her Misfortune, she made a Wreath or Head-band of her own Hair, whereof it seemed Nature had formed her a Diadem. They offered to strike off her head with a Sword, as if the Sword could have diminished the shame of her punishment, and Dignified her Death, and the hand of the Executioner. But she rejected this unprofitable and superstitious Ceremony: And resolved to be Executed with the same Ax which newly came from the Execution of her Husband: Whether that she desired to mingle her bloud with his; Whether she believed that a more painful death would be a more just Expiation of her faults: And that the Iron of the Ax would better purifie her soul, then the Iron of the Sword.

Such was the end of the Reign and Life of Iane Grey, who was an Athenian and Roman in England many Ages after the ruin of Athens and Rome. She shewed our Predecessors an Image of the ancient Constancy, and primitive Vertue. And taught us that the Graces may be learned, as well as the Muses; That Philosophy belongs to both Sexes; And that even in our daies, under the Purple, and upon the Throne, she might be as vigorous and couragious, as she was heretofore under the Wallet, and in the Tub of the Sunck.

HEroick Vertue doth not alwaies Kill; not imploys Fire and Sword in all she takes in hand. All her Exploits are not stained with Blood: she knows how to perform them of more then one fashion and colour; and acts not everywhere with Noise, though in every place with Force. There are Obscure victories without witnesses, wherein she hath need of no less boldness, then in those which are gained in the view of whole Nations, and with the noise of Canons and Trumpets.

The victorie represented in this Picture, is one of these. Edward, Prince of Wales, was come back from the Holy Land, with a wound he had received from an Impoysoned Arrow. The Physitians had allayed all their speculations and practises, and all those ways having been unprofitably tryed, they declared to him, that he could not be cured but by the destruction of some Person who might have the courage to suck in death with the poyson of his wound. Being condemned by this Declaration, he prepares himself to dye, resolving not to preserve life, by the death of another, nor to make a remedy of an Impoysonment. The Princess his Wife, Daughter unto the King of Castile, conceiving her self condemn'd by the same sentence, received it, as if love it self had pronounced it to her: And seeing her self necessitated to dye, either by the death or cure of her Husband; She resolved to chuse of these two deaths, that which seemed to her the most Honourable, and least bitter; and which ought of the two moyties of her life to conserve to her self, that which was most dear and precious.

This resolution taken with her love, she defers the Execution to the next night; And as soon as the Prince was prepared for it by rest, she gently discovers his wound, and begins to cure it by the purest blood of her soul, which she pours into it with her Tears: That done, she set her mouth to the wound, and with her tongue plunged her heart into it: By little and little she sucks out the Poyson, and so seasonably casts it forth, as she drew from thence all that was Mortal, without ret •• ning any part thereof to her self.

Whether that this malignant humour were consumed by the subtile and penetrating fire, which her heart diffused by her mouth: Or whether God, who is Life and Charity, had laid his Spirit upon her lips, she preserved her Husbands life without loosing her own; and by one act cured two sick Persons, and wrought two Miracles.

THere is a large 〈◊〉 in this Picture; and an excellent lesson for married Women This couragious Spaniard added to the Romans, Greciams, and even to those Barbarians, who dyed for their husbands, will speak Eternally for the constancy and fidelity of their Affections: And wil highly prove, and in an Heroick fule, that the loving portion of the heart is more vigorous and couragious in their Sex, then in Ours. But she will also prove for their instruction, that nothing is impossible to well ordered Charity: That her hands have the gift of Cures, and that the vertue of Miracles resides on her Lips: That she single and unarmed, hath more Force then Death with all his swords and poysons: and that Barbarous and heathenish Love, which knew onely how to dye vainly, and with Audacity, was but an impatient and desperate Love, compared to a Chaste One, which knows how to save in dying, and to reap benefit even by its Dangers and Losses.

But this saving and Wonder-working Love, ought not to be a busie and Effeminate Love, or a Love of Interest and propriety. It must be a Philosophick and Couragious Love, Extatick and Prodigal; Elevated above all that pleaseth and affrights. This Torch must be like that, represented in the Canticles, not a wandring and Volatile fire, but a fire ever Equal and Active; A fire which consumes all the little threds of Interests; all Forraign tyes; all Chains and Fetters; even those precious Chains which Fortune frames; nay, those very Fetters which are more worth then Diadems, and which fasten Princes on Thrones. Some will have it, that it consumes even the tyes of the Soul and Body; And alleadge that place of the Canticles, where the power of Love is equalled with that of Death. This point is both important, and instructive: And because one might be dangerously mistaken therein, it is fit to make a Question of it apart.

IT is no new thing to hear me Discourse of the bad Intelligence which is between Friendship and Fortune It hath always been believed that Greatness was too much Interessed, and Propriatory, to love really; and that it had a certain Pride and Rigour, which left no room for Tenderness and soft Passions. It hath been said, that Love and Majesty never dwell together: That it rather affects a mean and quiet Condition, then an elevation exposed to Winds and Tempests. And they that have resembled it to a Bird, have not made it flie with Eagles, nor placed it upon the top of Cedars, and the summet of Mountains. They have ranked it amongst Bees, which are Armed, and live like it, of the quintiscence of • owers, and of the pure Spirit of the Planets. They have lodgd it amongst Rose Trees, where there is Fire and Thorns like its own. But whatever hath hitherto been believed or said, Friendship and Vertue are not equally at variance with all great Fortunes: There are Grandeurs very Affectionate and wel-Natured, as well as Rude and Intractable. And if the Lizard, which walks only upon his hands, as Solomon saith, be so bold as to ascend even to the Palaces of Kings, and to dwell with them as their Domestique: We must not believe that Love, which is Nobly Descended, and to whom so excellent wings are given, is only born for Cottages. There are no Houses shut against it: And it shall appear by this Example, into what House soever Vertue introduceth it, there is no Greatness which gives not place to it, nor any Interest which obeys it not.

The Fort • ne of the deceased Duke of Esper • on hath been long admir'd throughout all France: It was likewise Extraordinary and Wonderful; and there was not only colour in the pieces which composed it, but also Force and Solidity; they were all great and Illustrious. In my Judgement nevertheless the decealed Lady his Wife, was the greatest and most Illustrious of all those pieces; nay, the strongest and most solid, though it lasted not so long as the rest This great Lady possessed in an eminent degree all the Qualities which may conduce to the glory of a Family, and the happiness of a Husband. Her Nobility was of the first rank: And I know not whether in all Europe there were any Soveraign Title or Crown wherein she had not a share. But there is a Nobility which is proud and insolent; yet hers was Modest and Civil: The Titles of her House did not puff up her Mind And the Crowns of her Allies and Predecessors made her not receive others with scorn. To this Nobleness of Blood was added the Nobleness of her Countenance, and that Soveraignty of Natural Right and Ancient Descent, which begets Majesty in Beautiful Persons; but she was not of those fair Ones who erect their Soveraignty into Liberty and Tyranny: Hers still remained within the limits of a lowly and exemplar Sobriety. Detraction, which is so bold in lying, and findes out stains in the most Beautiful Planets, had not one word to say against her.

Nevertheless, her Vertue was no sullen Vertue; she was none of those curst ones, who have not a drop of good nature; who know onely how to scratch and bite: She was naturally milde, and cultivated by study▪ and the Graces had so well tempered what might perchance have been over tart in her, as she gave content even where she was severe.

But all these rare qualities do not concern the subject we now treat of: my Question is about Conjugal Love: and the deceased Dutchess of Espernon hath given an Example thereof, which equals the force of ancient Models There are even in these days Illustrious, and Remarkable witnesses, which speak not of it but in terms of Praise. But what ever they say of her Esteem, and respects of her Obedience and Cares; of her good Offices and Complacences; though they speak nothing thereof which is not Great and Exemplar, yet it leaves not so high an Idea of this Love, as the action of Angou •••• .

In that General Revolution which happened at Court in the year 1588. The Heads of the Leag • t raised all their Engines against the Duke of Espern •• ; and used both openly and privately, all sorts of endeavours to destroy him. However, he was not shaken; so that these Engines did onely assault the favour and good will of his Prince. But as soon as Calumny took hold of his Fidelity, and that he was accused for holding intelligence with the King of N • varre, his good Master, who till then had defended his own benefits, and interpos'd between his Work and those envious Persons who designed his ruin; withdrew his Protection, and consented to the Plot which was laid to seiz on him in Ango • leme.

The enemies which he had in the Cabinet Councel, entended the Kings consent even to his destruction: And Orders were sent from the Court to the Magistrates of Ango • leme, to bring him alive or dead: The execution of this dangerous Plot was defer'd till the tenth of August, and that day the Magistrate, who was not ignorant how hard a chase he had to follow presented himself with two hundred selected and armed men to seiz on the Duke at the hour he should go forth to hear Mass. I know not whether one ought to believe what is spoken of his good Fortune: but indeed I have heard say, That she was more diligent about him, then the most diligent of his Guards: And that his enemies never laid any s • ares to catch him, which she did not break asunder; that they never prepared a Pitfall for him, over which she laid not a Plank. However it were, it is certain, there had been an end of him that day, if she had not caused dispatches to arrive to him, which busied him very happily all the morning, and diverted him from going forth to expose himself to death, which was prepared for him.

The occasion passing over with the morning, the Conductors of the Enterprize resolved to begin by the seisure of a rich pawn; and to secure the Dukes Person, by laying hold on the good Lady, his Wife, who was at Mass. Mean while, one of the Magistrates, accompanied with twelve resolute and stout men, entered the Castle: Their Arms were hid under their Cloaks; but their bad Intention being easie to be discovered by their ill looks, one of his Guards had some distrust of them, and ran to shut the Gate against those that followed to second them: the party began hotly to discharge their Pistols before the Dukes Chamber: some of his friends overpowred with number, were slain in the place: but his Domesticks and Guards hasting to the noise, and he himself appearing with a Sword in his hand, the end of the Pray proved as unhappy for the Assailants, as the beginning. The Magistrate, and one of the boldest amongst his Troop, made Payment for the attempt, with their persons; and the rest who were not resolved to lose so much, rendred up their Arms, and abandoned the party.

This first Troop being defeated, the Duke was not for all that out of danger. He was enforced to defend the two Gates of the Castle against fire and the Pe • ard; and then to repulse those who began to Scale it. His greatest danger, nevertheless, was in the Church, where furiously entred an armed, and incensed multitude, which seized on the Dutchess. Her quality and Sex deserved at least some respect: but qualities are not distinguished in a Tumult; and no Sex is Priviledged against Fury. Of two Gentlemen that led her, one was killed at her feet, and the other being dangerously wounded, was in little better condition. This Barbarous Act did not affright her: the bloud which sprinkled her Gown, and Death it self, which passed over her, wrought no change in her Countenance. Her soul was alwaies Erect, and Elevated above danger; She conserved even the comliness of her gesture, and the dignity of her looks, even words of Authority, and tone of Command: and whereas another less Couragious Woman, might have submitted to Insolency, and have flattered Fury▪ She treated them with Command, like a Mistress, astonishing Audacity it self by her Constancy.

They advertise her that she was Arrested for her Husband; and that if she had a mind to live, and preserve Him, she must consider of disposing him to remit his Person and Cittadel into the hands of the Magistrate.

At this Declaration, which was made to her with threats, and a dagger at her throat, she answered, That she would not enter into any Treaty with Murtherers: That she knew not how to give ill Counsels: nor in what terms a Wise may perswade her Husband to be a Coward: that it troubled her she had but one life to expose for the honour and safety of his: that she was so far from lending them her prayers and tears against him, that she would joyfully shed even the last drop of her bloud, if that might add either a moment of new lustre to his reputation, or half a days space to his life: And therefore let their fury finish on her, what it had begun. That nothing of weakness should proceed either from her mouth or hands, that they too well accorded with her heart; and that it would better please her to dye at the Castle Gate for her Husband, then to live without him upon a Throne.

She made large promises; she found her self also as well disposed to make good what she promised; and her Constancy being put to the Test, was found as great and vigorous as her words. I learned from an Illustrious Person, and who hath narrowly looked into the affairs of that time, that she was brought before the Castle; and that they might there take the Husband by the fear and danger of the Wife, the same Propositions were renewed to her, with the same Threats and Violencies.

The Couragious Woman reduced to this Extremity, considered nothing but the danger of her husband; and had no fear, but of his Affection and Tenderness. She was not ignorant that all his weakness lay on that side: and that there was no place so strong, which would not be hard for him to defend against her tears: She also cryed out unto him, the better to fortifie this weak part: That she came not to perswade him to a dangerous Piety; and to betray him by her Intreaties: That she came rather to make her Body serve him for a new Barricado against his Enemies. That if he loved her truly, and had a desire to save her, he should love and preserve what was of her in him; that on him depended her safety and danger; her good and bad Fortune: that out of him, she could have neither life nor death, nothing to hope or fear; that he should take heed of trusting Traytors, who assaulted his head by his heart: who would soften it to his overthrow, and raise a Compassion in him, to gain his life at a cheaper rate: that he should beware of listening to the suggestions of a Timerous and Apprehensive Love: that he should rather give ear to that Affection which spake to him by her mouth: that it were lost labour to preserve her, if he lost himself: that it would be of no advantage to his Enemies to destroy her, if he were safe: that in despight of them, and what death soever they should make her suffer, she should always live most happy, as long as she should live in his remembrance.

She pronounced these words with so Graceful a Confidence, and so Noble and Generous a Tone, as it clearly appeared, that at this instant her heart ascended to her mouth to express it self by its own Language. This eminent Vertue dazel'd the furious Souldiers, who environed her, and made their Weapons fall out of their hands. The Duke was relieved by his frinds, who came thither from Xaintes, and Ca • gnae: And the Capitulation being concluded between him and the Inhabitants, the Dutchess, impatient to see him again, could not expect till the Castle Gate was cleared, but commanded a Ladder whereby to enter at the window. Certainly after so Illustrious and Glorious a Victory, it had been fit the Gate should have been thrown down before her, and that she should have entred the Castle in Triumph, and by a Breach.

HISTORY, which causeth it self to be stiled true and exact, scatters nothing almost in every place, but far fetch'd Falshoods, and Fables Magnificently set forth, and with Pomp. It only proposeth Pictures exceeding Natural Proportion, nothing but Colosseses, which seem to be made only to affright the belief of Readers, and weary their sight. There is nothing here of this Model or Statute: All pure and naked Truth, without exaggeration; and ornament is here more taking then these Fables, more magnificent and stately then these Colosseses.

The Maid of Orleans is not the Work of an Inventive and Deluding Fancy. She is not composed of the same Matter with those Valiant Women set forth in Romances, and by Poets. Her Vertue was Sensible and Substantial: She really effected in the Field all that others have done in Picture, and in the brain of their Inventors: Her Victories have not been like theirs which spake only by black'd Paper, and spilt Inke. The same Spirit which called from the Sheepfold the Conquerour of Gelia; which chose a weak and unarmed Woman to defeat the Assyrians broken into Iudea, and to tear its People out of the claws of Holifernes, took this Maid from amidst the Flocks, and sent her Fortified by his Vertue, to raise up ruined France, and to free it from the bondage of Strangers, who would have dishonoured that Kingdom, after they had pillag'd it.

He infused into her a Prophetick Spirit, and a Conquering Heart: He made a Deb ••• and Iudith of her: And heap'd together in her life all that in the time of Miracles appeared most rare and ••• ustrious. It did not suffice him to give her Courage and Conduct: He sent her an Angel who laid his hands on her; and this Imposition of hands was to her what the Ceremony of Instaulment is to new made Knights: He instructed her in all the Exercises of War, and taught her more in a moment then 〈◊〉 and Pot ••• had learnt from Occurtences and Fortune. The English also stood not before her: Their Fortune, which conceived it self already Victorious, gave way to her Angel; and what forcible endeavours soever they used to hinder her entry into Orleans, she entred it in despite of them, and deprived them of France by taking this City from them.

After several Fights, wherein she was still Victorious, she fell into the hands of her Enemies, who treated her as a Criminal both in point of Religion and State, and made her undergo the punishment of Hereticks and Sorcerers. God was pleased thus to permit it, to the end she might accomplish all the Duties of a gallant Woman, and finish that part of a perfect Heroesse, which she had begun: That she might overcome by her Patience as she had done by her Valour; And that the English might be no less defeated by her Death then by her Victories. Besides, this barbarous Injustice heightened their sins, and drew upon them the wrath of God, the Avenger of oppressed Innocence. The Spirit of the Maid, and her good Angel re-inkindled the War after he death. Ever since the English had them on their backs, they were vanquished by them in all Battels, and beaten off in all Sieges. And in fine to preserve themselves from these exterminating Spirits, they were inforced to quit all that they 〈◊〉 •• vaded.

THE Heroes, of whom there is so much mention made in History, were not of the Gyants Race: And their strength reached not so far as to root up Trees, and remove Mountains. Common people nevertheless, who can comprehend no other greatness then that which tires the sight; who know no other force then what begets noise and ruines, frame Colosseses in their imaginations, when we speak to them of those persons who are called Extraordinary: And because they hear that men esteem their strength, and prize their valour, they believe in good earnest that these persons had Arms of Steel, and • egs of Brass; and that with their Fists they did beat down the Walls of such Towns as they had a mind to take.

I think it necessary to reform this imagination of the Vulgar, and to reduce it to a more just proportion. It is not the heighth of Statute, nor the strength of the Body which makes Heroes: It is the greatness and elevation of the Soul: It is the Courage and Resolution of the minde: And there may be very elevated Souls, and of the first Magnitude, in little Bodies; a mind extreamly vigorous may be found in very infirm flesh. On that side then there is nothing which can diminish the right of Women, or hinder them from pretending to Heroick Vertue.

And finally, to render this right of Women more perspicuous, and to support the pretensions of such as shall have the courage to raise themselves to that Pitch; It is to be supposed that Heroick Vertue, to define it rightly, is but an excellent Vertue, and elevated above common Vertues. This excellency arises to her, first from the Dignity and Eminency of her object, which is Good, considered in the highest elevation it may have. Secondly, it is derived to her, from the perfection of the Faculties by which she acts: and these Faculties receive their perfection from a spiritual and penetrating Fire, which inlightens and purifies the Intellectual part, which warms and transports the Appetitive. Thirdly, it arrives to her from the Nobleness of her principal functions, which are to act vigorously, and with resolution, and to suffer couragiously, and with constancy. And because Action, how vigorous and resolute soever it be, even the most couragious and constant sufferance, cannot attain to this eminent and prime Good, but by a certain transport of the Soul; which the Grecians call Enthusiasme, this Transport is the fourth Cause, which produceth the Excellency of Heroick Vertue.

Let us say also, to leave nothing unsaid, that the most beautifull and excellent form which Heroick Vertue gives to Love and Anger, is a fifth Cause, which addes to her a fifth degree of Excellency. I speak here according to the opinion of the Ancients, who believed that Love and Anger were the predominant Passions of Heroes: whether because they are of a more subtile and combustible matter, and that there enters more interiour fire into their temper, then into that of other men: Whether because these two Imperious and Soveraign Passions cannot be well purified but by a more Soveraign and Imperious Vertue then themselves, nor can receive elsewhere, and by an ordinary effort their last perfection, and the fair forms whereof they are capable. All these conditions contribute to the dignity of Heroick Vertue, and raise it to a superiour Order, where common Vertues are not admitted.

This Order nevertheless is seated in a place to which one may approach from all the conditions of life: All great Souls are equally summoned to it: On what side soever one ascends, Women may ascend thither as well as Men. 〈◊〉 , the most Eminent and Soveraign gallantry, which is the proper object of Heroick Vertue, is not out of their sight, and cannot be above their Pretensions Nature hath not assigned them an end beneath That: There is no bound beyond which, they are exempted from cares, and abandoned to their own sense. There is no space wherein Good may not be to them more Good; wherein Duty cealeth to oblige them; wherein Vertue looses the rights she hath over them. The Careir of Honour is to Them as great as to Us: And in this Careir there is not one single place which is not marked out, in which it may be permitted them to make a false step; to suffer themselves to be overcome; to abandon Gallantry, to reject a Crown. Moreover they are called to perfection as well as we: And the Son of God, who proclaims to the Saints and Just, that they must not grow weary in sanctifying themselves; and that they ought every day to adde some new lustre to their Righteousness, hath not discharged Women from this labour, nor marked them out bounds, beyond which they may be unjust, and far from Saints. Not only then this Eminent and Soveraign Gallantry, at which Heroick Vertue aimeth, is not out of their reach, but is within the limits of their right, and enters into their duties: And there may be occasions found which will not leave them the freedome of adhering to an inferiour Good. Such Encounters and Enemies may come in the way, as will excite them even to the last degree of Vertue, or cause them to fall into Vice.

As for what concerns the perfection of the Intellectual, and Appetitive portion, which is as it were the head and heart of Heroick Vertue: It is certain that these faculties are not different where there is diversity of Sex. They have everywhere the same matter, and are capable of the same forms. The lights which descend into mens minds, are not purer, or of a higher Sphear then those that descend into the Souls of Women: And from these equal lights, derived from the same spring, a like fire, and of the same force, may be kindled in the heart of them both. There are some men who have not so much as the first glimmerings of sound judgement. You would swear that they had been made out of the Lees and Dregs of Matter: You would say that not one single spark of this Coelestiall Fire is entred into their Constitution: And their souls are so burthened, the rinde which incompasseth them is so obscure and thick, as no light can penetrate them with on single Ray of Truth, which can give them a beginning of any vertuous heats. On the contrary, there are some Women who seem to be onely made out of the pure Extraction of rectified matter. The superiour portion of their souls is so pure, and so lively reflects all the luminous impression it receives, the Inferiour hath two so noble fires, and moves so regularly, and with so measured and just a swiftness, that it would not savor of flattery to compare them to those fair Compounds, which are formed of the Intelligences and Planets. It is not then the difference of Sex, which makes any difference in the faculties of a soul: and since they have the same perfection both in Man and Woman: since both may be imbued with the same light, and penetrated by the same fire, let us descend freely step by step to the consequence to which this discourse leads us; and let us agree, that Women may be disposed by this light and fire, to the principal Functions of Heroick vertue.

History is as knowing and perswasive in this point as Philosophy: and the Examples she alledges are as just and formal demonstrations, as those which are framed according to the Rules of Logick. If it be shewed by these Examples, that Women are capable of the most vigorous and illust • ous Actions, it is consequently, and of necessity proved by the same Instances, that they are also capable of an Heroick Transport of this Enthusiasme, without which we cannot pass beyond the bounds which Moral Philosophy hath prescribed to common Vertues.

Iudith indeed must needs have been transported with this Enthusiasme, when she ran the hazard of her Life and Honour; when she passed over Walls and Trenches; when she cast her self single and unarmed into the midst of more then one hundred thousand Combatants to redeem Iudea out of their hands, to take off their Generals Head by one blow of a Sword.

Susanna must needs have been stimulated by the same Enthusiasme, when being sollicited to her Dishonour, by Pleasure and Fear, she couragiously rejected them both, and hastened to her Duty through 〈◊〉 , and Death, and a whole storm of stones heaped up against her. There must needs have been much of this Transport and Enthusiasme, in the Mother of the 〈◊〉 , when she exposed her self to Hatchets, and burning ••• drons; when she marched over the skins, and bloody limbs of her •• ead and dilacerated children; when she gave up her heart and entrals, her soul and spirit unto seven different Deaths, to gain the eight, which was worthy the memory of the 〈◊〉 , and sutable to the Reputation of her Race.

But without going so far from our Age, and Modern History; was there not a Transport in that Maid of Agria, who preparing her self to fight upon a breach, by which the Turks endeavoured to bring fire and sword into the bosom of her Country, when her Mother joyning in the same duty with a great stone upon her head, was born away by a Canon shot, appeared no waies surprized with this Accident, & quitted neither her resolution not post▪ Her heart did not so much as tremble at the blood, which might have demolished even the strongest wall; and with unchanging countenance she took up this stone, still warm with the blood and death of her Mother, and rolled it upon the heads of the first that entred the brea • h.

Was there not an Enthusiasme in the action which a young Woman of the same Town performed at the same Siege? She fought compleatly armed between her husband and mother: and when her husband after a long and obstinate fight was killed by her side, her mother advising her to withdraw, and render him her last duties: God defend me, replyed she, from so unseasonable a piety. Now is the time to revenge his death, and not to deplore it: his • uneral may be well performed afterwards, if we live, and if it be ordained for me to dye upon his body, mine will be a Tombe glorious enough for him; and my blood mixt with his, will do him more honour then my tears. These couragious words were followed by a far more glorious action. She threw away her own sword, and took up that of her husbands; whether she esteemed it better then her own, and most accustomed to overcome: or whether she thought it might have retained some remnant of his Valour and dexterity, which would fight with her, and bring her good fortune: And fortified by this imagination, she cast her self fiercely, and with order upon those enemies that were the farthest advanced; She killed t • ree with her own hand; made the rest give back; and that done, she retired with her husbands body, and the satisfaction to have revenged his death, which was to her as just and manly a satisfaction, as that which is sought in a spruce and flaunting mourning in a sorrow as Ambitious and Vain as the Excesse.

Besides this Transport, which is a visible and commendable excess of Valour and Constancy, there is another kinde of excess which Magnificence seeks in its actions, & which also appertain to Heroick vertue And we must not forget to affirm by the way, that Women have gone as far, and raised themselves as high as Men by this second kinde of Excess. One cannot speak without vast terms of the Egyptian Pyramides: And the abreviated draughts which Antiquity hath left us of them, do even tire our sight. Nevertheless, the highest and most stately of these Pyramides, were built by the boldness and Magnificence of Women. The Ma • sol • um exhausted the skill of all Architects, and of all the Sculptors of Greece; and left neither Marble not precious stones in Asia and this Monument was the invention and enterprize of a Woman.

The pendent Gardens of Babylon, and those Walls so famous for their matter and structure, were the work of a Woman: And this self same person who was filled with nothing but vast thoughts, and unlimited designs, resolving to have her Statue erected in a place where she had gained a battel, caused it to be made out of a whole Mountain cut out into a humane Figure, and seated upon a Throne. And because it would not have been decent to see a Queen alone, she commanded the Artist to dispose the outward and superfluous pieces of the Mountain with so much Art, as there might be wherewith to make out of them half a dozen of Guards. Without dis-interring ruins, buried under so many Ages, there are in France sumptuous proofs enough of the Heroick Magnificence of Women. But being exposed as they are to publick view, it is not necessary to exhibite them in this Place, my Designe not being to Write for Strangers or blinde men.

As for what concerns these two Soveraign and predominant Passions, which are the Noblest matter Heroick Vertue can employ, the Constancy and Force of Conjugal Love, even the Transport and last Perfection thereof, will never be brought in Dispute against Women by any man that hath entertained himself but for one quarter of an hour in History. They are not less capable of making good use of anger, of purifying its fire by a more spiritual fire, of guiding it to the supream degree of Honour, by an Heroick transport. And to conclude this point by a single Example, but a remarkable and crowned one; you will finde nothing but Blood, Sallies, and a hasty and precipitate Impetuosity in all that is related of those Heroesses whom we know, if compared to what Semiramis did in this kinde.

A Province which she had newly conquered, having chased away her Lieutenants, and shaken off its yoke by a publick Revolt; The news of it being brought to her at the instant her head was dressing, She did not presently Proclaim that Ropes and Gibbets should be prepared, as some Princes have done in like occasions; But without the least raising of her voice, or uttering one tart Word; without making shew of my alteration or surprisal, she took an oath that they should never finish the dressing of her head, till she had chastised these Rebels▪ This Oath taken with a tone of Rallery, and with a Majestical and graceful sternness, she commanded her Women to lock up her perfumes and jewels; sent for her Arms, and gave out Orders for the marching of her Troops; Took horse with her hair half pin'd up, and half discheveld: And the not only began, but finished the War in this posture. And if my memory fail me not, it was after the end of the War, she caused that vast and stupendious Statue to be erected, which I formerly mentioned. Let us acknowledge, that there was much of Magnaminity and Gallantry in this Transport▪ Let us confess that this half dress'd head, was upheld by a great heart▪ That there was not a stronger nor a more capable One: And that a Crown could not be found too great or too glorious for it.

Hitherto I have taken Heroick Vertue by lights purely humane, and have scarce spoken of any other then That which hath been known to Philosophers. But if the Question be concerning an Heroick Vertue which is Christian, and sanctified by Grace; which hath been illuminated by the Rayes of Iesus Christ; which hath been imbr •• by his blood, and penetrated by the Spirits thereof upon Mount Calvery; which is called to that Divine and Soveraign Good, which is of a degree infinitely raised above all the goods of Nature, there can be no doubt but that Women may pretend to it as well as we; and that their Pretentions are as Lawful, and grounded upon as good Right as ours. Iesus Christ hath given his Blood and Spirit in common. He cals us in common to the participation of his Cro •• , and to Mount Calvery. And it is particularly noted, that when he was there in Person, many women, & but one single man ascended thither after him. I am unwilling to say that there was some Presage in this, and that it prefigured what was to come▪ I will only say, that ever since they have been seen to ascend thither in greater numbers, and with greater ardour then we; and to throng more about the Cross, which is the 〈◊〉 Throne of Heroick Vertue. There have been Heroesses then, according to all forms, and in all the degrees of Heroick Vertue; in the degree of Patience, in the degree of Magnificence, in the degree of Magnanimity, in the degree of Courage and Valour: And without further inlarging our Reasons, the Example I am going to produce, will be an universal and abb •••• ated proof thereof.

THis Picture represents a generous Captive who burnt her chain which she could not break; and took revenge for the pillaging of her miserable Country, by firing the Booty with the Pirats which were carrying it away. Within the memory of our Fathers, the loss of Cyprus began by the taking of 〈◊〉 : And God permitted it to advertise Christian Princes that they ought to stand upon the •• Guards, and to mistrust any Peace made with the Common Enemy. It is a wild Beast, which seems sometimes to be glutted, and sometimes to be • ul'd asleep, but is never tamed in good earnest. His very Freindships are deceitfull and dangerous: And even his Kindnesses leave behind the print of his claws: And when all other Pretences fail him, his Greediness is his Common Right, and the General Wrong of his Neighbours. This City which was so rich, so ancient and renowned; which contained more then Sixty Thousand Inhabitants, and no less stately by an immemorial Magnificence, became a Prey to Mustap ••• and his Army. And that Greatness which so many Ages and Generations had raised, being ruined and cut in peices in one Day, satiated with its Spoyl and Blood, the Avarice and Cruelty which shared therein.

After that the fury of the 〈◊〉 was extinguished by the Ruines it had made, the Bas •• caused the Booty to be brought before him still moist and dropping with the Blood of the Dead, and Tears of the Living which were more to be pittyed then the Dead. He culled out of these sad Remnants all that was precious. He caused all the rare and entire Booties either taken in the Town or in the desolate Country, to be put into four great Vessels, and sent them to 〈◊〉 as the most glorious and certain Dispatches he could receive of his Victory. These unhappy Innocents did imbarque with fears, and were with tears carryed from the sight of their Mothers, who knew not what Wishes to make for these unfortunate Creatures, who ought equally to fear both a Calm and Tempest, who could not arrive but to an infamous servitude by a prosperous Wind, who could gain nothing but a deplorable Death by Shipwrack.

The Signal of putting to Sea was given, and the Vessels were already under Sayl; when the fairest and most couragious of this miserable •• oop, reflecting on her Liberty, her Honor, and her captive and • alf-burn • Country, left in the Reer, and seeing nothing before her but Bondage, Infamy and • dishonest Prison, to which she was carryed by the wind; after a thousand Maledictions breathed forth both against Fortune who had unhappily preserved her from the fire and ruines of her House: and against her Sex which had rendred her unworthy of an honorable Death • it came into her mind, that the Genius of her Co • ntry required some action from her which might make more noyse then her Fall had done.

As this Mayd was wholy taken up with this thought, she perceived a Soldier entring into the Magazine of Powder, she went in readily after him: and having found fire ready at hand, assisted by her good Angel (as One may believe) and inspired by God, jealous of the honor of Virgins, she took hold of this fire, and cast it into a barrel of Powder which was ready to receive it. The Effect was sudden. At the very Instant the flame disperseth it self with an incredible noyse through the whole Gally, and from thence spred it self amongst the other three which drew neer to assist it. The Couragious Virgin being first carryed away, had not the leisure to be sensible of her Liberty and Victory. But doubtless her fa •• soul issuing forth of her body, stayd at least some time to have the 〈◊〉 of them both: And her first Joy was to behold these devouting and statel • flames, which revenged the sacking of Nicofia upon the Victorious; and burnt with the prison and bondage of her Companions the S • rag • o and voluptuous present which Mu • tap • a had embarked for Selum.